Talking It Out
by SomewhereApart
Summary: It keeps happening. They really should talk about it. Post-"In The Wind."


They were supposed to talk about all this, she remembers as Eric mouths his way along her collar, hands up under her shirt, cupping her breasts, his hips grinding hers into the plush cushions of her sofa. He came over to talk about it. To talk about where this was going. To talk about why they – _oh god –_ shouldn't be doing this anymore.

But either she's delusional in the hope that they have the willpower to keep this from happening, or delusional that she even wants that in the first place. She's always prided herself on her strong will, her discipline and determination, but now her shirt is off completely, and he's sucking kisses along the swell of her breast before – oh, look at that – her bra is gone too. He's sucking at her nipples that way he does, hard and quick, one and then the other, back and forth and back and forth, and all Calleigh has the willpower to do is clutch at his shoulders and moan.

She's not sure quite how he does this to her – makes her an incoherent puddle of willing flesh whenever he so pleases – but she's also not quite sure that she minds. Her body sure doesn't mind, that she knows, as her hips arch up against his, his hardness rocking against her wetness through four layers of cloth. They're a little rough today; she loves it. She's closer than she should be, considering how long they've been at this – not very long at all, to be honest. She answered the door, she opened a couple of beers, they sat down on the sofa and, well, Eric is very persuasive when he wants to be, and she just can't resist that bottom lip of his. In fact... she pulls him up to kiss him again, nipping and sucking at his lip, satisfaction flashing through her when he groans and grinds harder against her.

And then she's the one groaning, because he's pulled away from her mouth and is biting a line down her belly, fingers tugging at the button of her slacks, and she knows where this is going. She also knows it's not going to take long, and he knows it, too, as soon as he yanks her slacks and panties down in one quick tug and spreads her legs to find her slick and ready. He swipes a thumb up from opening to clit and her hips twitch just a little as he groans and leans in. "So wet," he murmurs, and then his mouth is on her, tongue teasing against her clit and she's panting and scratching her nails along his scalp and arching closer. He sucks and her toes curl, her heel nudging against his shoulder as she gasps how close she is, so close, just a little more, but before she can come he slides his tongue down, down, slipping it inside her, and it's good, so good, but not enough to get her off, and Calleigh's not sure if she should be frustrated or just ride it out and enjoy the way it feels. He doesn't give her much time to waffle over it before his thumb is on her clit, rubbing it in short, hard strokes that have her crying out again. His tongue inside her, licking and thrusting, his thumb against her, stroking and tugging, and then oh, oh, _Eric!_, she's flying, muscles tense, jaw slack, pleasured cries sounding with every shift of his hand. He doesn't let up, just works her clit harder, switches fingers and tongue until he's pressing two fingers hard against her g-spot, sucking a quick, steady rhythm against her clit and she's gone again in under a minute, shouting now, and sweating, fingers scrabbling at the sofa as she tries to get away or get closer, she can't even tell anymore.

And then he stops, finally, and all she can do is lay there and try to get her breath back as he unbuckles and unzips, shoves his pants off and bends one knee onto the sofa, his other foot planted on the floor as he grabs her hips and tugs her unceremoniously to him. She moans, it's all she can manage, and he leans over her for one single, deep kiss before telling her, "Need you so much," and thrusting in easily.

She moans again, nodding, tells him "oh yeah," and "me too," and "unh, Eric!" as he starts to move. It's always good like this, this angle is never, ever bad, and he's bumping against all the right places over and over, and she's so hot she feels feverish. She blinks her eyes open to watch him watch her, those dark brown eyes flicking over her body, watching her breasts bounce as he slams into her, watching where they come together again and again, looking up to her face and catching her eyes, smiling at her.

"So beautiful," he breathes, and she's about to tell him "you too," when he shifts a little and thrusts harder and all that comes out is a garbled moan. "Yeah, that's it," he tells her. "Let me hear how good this feels."

She couldn't keep quiet if she tried, not today, and especially not when he guides one of her hands to her breast, squeezes her own fingers over her nipple. He likes to watch her touch herself, and she's at turns a little embarrassed and a lot empowered by it, but tonight she's too far gone for either of those. Tonight she just keeps it up because it feels so good, because _she _feels so good, because he's just pressed that thumb against her clit again and she knows if she comes with him inside her, his hand on her, her hands on her, it's going to be mind-blowing.

And sure enough, there it is, just a few thrusts later. Her hips start to jerk erratically against his, her moans and groans becoming shouts and gasps again, his name over and over as she gets the feeling of every hair standing on end before it all bursts into surging waves of pleasure so strong she just barely hears the way he groans her name, just barely feels the way he's pumping into her harder, harder, faster, faster, and then one final, deep thrust and he's gone too.

He half-collapses on top of her, his elbow settling next to her head to keep him from squishing her entirely. Her head falls to the side just enough to rest her face against his bicep, and she can feel it twitching a little from the effort of holding him up right now, but it's nothing compared to the way her legs are still trembling. She's not sure she can speak; she's pretty sure she can't walk. All she knows right now is that she feels thoroughly debauched and it is, for lack of a better word, awesome.

He sucks a warm kiss against her throat and murmurs, "I love you," and Calleigh's heart clenches. "I don't want to stop doing this; I love you."

"Work..." she manages, blinking her eyes open, swallowing against the dryness in her throat, and trying to make her tongue work properly again.

"I don't care about work."

"You can't be... an expert witness... if I'm a CSI... and we're sleeping together." She's still breathing heavily, her voice broken and husky, and she wishes he'd save the conversation for when she doesn't sound like she's run a marathon while working a phone sex line, but she figures that was probably part of his plan all along. I mean, how can she say no to him when she still can't feel her toes?

"Well then I'll go back to the lab."

That gets her attention, and she focuses on him, frowning. "Are you sure?"

He shrugs a little, shifting his weight, "I've thought about it."

Now _she's_ thinking about it, as he levers himself up and off of her, nudging her until there's room for him between her hip and the back of the sofa, one arm weaving under her neck, the other wrapping over her torso possessively.

"I miss seeing you every day."

"You quit for a reason, though. For several reason, if I recall."

"Yeah..." Eric nuzzles against her hair, and she still feels boneless and sated, although without his body covering hers and with the a/c drying the sweat on her skin, she's a little chilly all of a sudden. "But I miss it, sometimes."

"Well... you know I'd like to see you more, too, but there'd still be the issue of IAB, and we'd have to keep it all secret if we want to be on the same shift." She tests her muscles by cuddling closer, and sure enough, they work. "I don't want you to rush the decision just because you want to see me. You can always, you know..." She sighs heavily, thinks _Damnit_, because he's backed her into exactly the corner he probably hoped he would.

"Can always what?"

She shifts her head, frowns at him. "Well, what's the point of fighting this when it keeps happening anyway, right?"

His lips quirk a little, but it's the only indication he gives that she's playing right into his hand. Sneaky bastard. "I thought you weren't sure you wanted this."

"Wanting it isn't the problem," she assures him, skimming her fingertips in slow passes along his forearm now. "You know I want you. It's just not... smart."

Eric shrugs a shoulder, bends until his mouth is a breath from hers and says, "Sometimes smart is overrated, Cal," and then he's kissing her again, slow and languid, and she decides to just let him be right this time. They'll figure out a way to make it work.


End file.
